Tainted Love

Chapter 32

CHAPTER — SHADOWS UNDER THE HEART

The room was too bright for mourning.

Every surface gleamed like it was trying to deny what Vivian felt inside her. The pale walls, the metallic glint of the ultrasound machine, even the sunlight spilling through the blinds …all of it mocked her with its sterile cheer.

Vivian sat on the edge of the narrow bed, one hand resting on the small curve of her stomach, the other clutching a folded handkerchief. Her knuckles were pale, her breathing uneven. The hospital gown she wore hung loosely around her shoulders, exposing too much of her fragility.

The door clicked open.

“Miss Dary?”

The voice was soft …a man’s, calm, deliberate. She looked up. The sonographer stepped in, his white coat trailing slightly behind him. His ID tag read Dr. Louis Arden …a name that had once meant little to her, just another medical professional in her orbit. But now, he was one of the few people left who even spoke to her.

Louis paused a moment before approaching, observing her quietly. The look in his eyes was neither clinical nor detached. It was… human. The kind of look someone gives when they see a storm that’s been raging too long.

He walked toward her, his shoes clicking against the linoleum. “You look exhausted,” he said gently, stopping beside the bed. “Have you been sleeping?”

Vivian let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, wasn’t quite a sob. “If you call closing your eyes and begging your thoughts to stop ‘sleep,’ then yes, I suppose I have.”

Louis gave a quiet exhale. “That’s not sleep. That’s surviving.”

She looked down, her fingers tightening on the handkerchief. “Surviving feels too generous a word.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The hum of the machine filled the silence. Then Louis nodded toward the screen. “Can I?”

Vivian hesitated, then lay back slowly. Her eyes fluttered closed as he prepared the probe. The cool gel spread across her skin like ice. When the probe touched her abdomen, she shivered — not from cold, but from the feeling that she was being seen in a place where even she didn’t want to look.

The rhythmic pulse of the machine filled the room …thump, thump, thump.

Louis turned the monitor slightly toward her. “There,” he said quietly.

Vivian’s eyes flickered open. On the screen, a tiny shape moved, heartbeat fluttering like a secret being whispered to the world. She stared at it ….that fragile pulse of life, so small yet louder than her grief.

For a moment, something softened inside her. Tears welled up, trembling at the corners of her eyes. “That’s… her?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Louis smiled faintly. “Too early to tell. But yes, that’s your baby. Strong heartbeat. Healthy growth.”

Vivian turned her face toward the screen, tears spilling freely now. “She’s alive,” she whispered, almost in disbelief. “She’s really… alive.”

The doctor watched her quietly. He had seen hundreds of ultrasounds …thousands, even …but this one hit differently. Maybe it was the hollow ache in her voice, or the way her hand trembled when she reached toward the screen, or maybe it was because grief and hope had never looked so intertwined before.

After a moment, he put down the probe and wiped the gel from her stomach with a soft towel. “You’re doing fine physically,” he said, his voice lower now, more personal. “But mentally…” He hesitated. “Vivian, you’re not okay.”

Her head dropped.

“I know,” she whispered.

Louis stepped back, folding his arms. He watched her in silence for a beat, then spoke …firm, but gentle. “I need to be honest with you. You’re starving yourself. You’re not resting. Your blood pressure is unstable, your stress levels are high. You’re carrying a life inside you, but you’re letting death live beside it. That’s dangerous …for both of you.”

Vivian swallowed hard, her throat tightening. “Don’t talk like that.”

He didn’t flinch. “I have to. Someone has to.”

She lifted her eyes to him …red-rimmed, glossy, desperate. “You don’t understand. My father…” Her voice broke. “He wasn’t just my father. He was my friend. My protector. The only one who saw me as more than… a name. And now he’s gone, and the silence he left behind…it’s killing me.”

Louis listened, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I know what grief can do. But Vivian… he’s gone. And your child…your child is still here.”

Vivian pressed her palms to her face, sobbing silently. “How do I stop missing him? How do I stop feeling like everything I touch dies?”

Louis took a slow breath and crouched beside the bed, lowering himself until their eyes were level. “You don’t stop missing him,” he said. “You learn to carry him differently. Not in pain. In purpose. You start choosing to live because that’s what he’d want for you …and for her.”

Vivian’s lips trembled. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not.” His voice softened even more. “But the hardest things are often the ones worth surviving.”

For a long while, all she did was cry. Quiet, painful sobs that shook her shoulders. Louis didn’t move. He just stayed there …not touching her, not interrupting, simply being. And somehow, that presence was enough.

When she finally looked up again, her tears had soaked into the pillow. Her voice was small. “You really think I can do this?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a polite, distant smile. It was warm, genuine … the kind that reaches the eyes. “Yes, Vivian. You can. And you will.”

She exhaled shakily, and something in her broke open …not in pain, but in release.

Louis stood slowly and handed her a tissue. “You can talk to me, you know. Anytime. If it gets too heavy, call the hospital and ask for me directly. I’ll make time for you.”

Vivian blinked, caught off guard. “Why would you do that? You barely know me.”

He looked down for a moment, his expression shifting …something almost unreadable there. “Because I know what it’s like to watch someone give up on themselves. And I don’t want to see that again.”

She took the tissue from his hand, their fingers brushing … a small touch, but one that lingered longer than it should have. For the first time in weeks, Vivian felt warmth seep through her. Not passion. Not desire. Just… warmth. The kind of human connection she hadn’t felt since her father’s passing.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Louis smiled faintly. “Get some rest, Miss Dary.”

Her lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Vivian,” she corrected gently.

“Vivian,” he repeated. “Take care of yourself and of him or her.”

As he turned to leave, Vivian called softly after him, “Doctor?”

He stopped at the door and looked back.

“I’ll try,” she said. “I can’t promise, but I’ll try.”

He nodded once …the smallest, most meaningful gesture … and then stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Vivian lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, her hands resting over her stomach. The steady rhythm of her baby’s heartbeat still echoed faintly in her mind. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough …enough to remind her that she wasn’t entirely alone.

⸻

Outside, the corridor was silent except for the faint squeak of a nurse’s shoes. Louis leaned against the wall, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn’t supposed to get involved. He wasn’t supposed to feel. But something about her … the fragility, the loneliness, the way she tried to hold herself together while falling apart … stirred something human in him.

He walked slowly down the hall, the smell of disinfectant fading as he approached his office. He closed the door behind him and sat at his desk, staring at the monitor, but his mind was elsewhere …replaying her trembling voice, her tears, that small, broken smile when she saw the life growing inside her.

He whispered to himself, “You’ll be okay, Vivian. You have to be.”

⸻

That night, Vivian sat on her balcony, the city lights sprawling below her like constellations that had fallen to earth. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain. Her hands rested on her belly, fingers tracing small, slow circles.

Her father’s face flashed in her memory — his smile, his laugh, his voice calling her “my little warrior.” She could almost hear him now, telling her to stand, to fight, to live.

“Daddy,” she whispered into the night, “I’m trying. I really am.”

The wind brushed her hair across her face, as if answering.

Below her, a siren wailed. Somewhere far away, laughter echoed from an open window. The world hadn’t stopped just because hers had. And maybe, just maybe, that was a sign that life …in all its unfairness …still wanted her to keep going.

Her phone buzzed. A message. She wiped her tears quickly and looked.

Dr. Louis: Don’t forget to eat tonight. The baby will thank you later.

Vivian’s lips curved into a small, fragile smile. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t ignore the message. She typed back slowly.

Vivian: Thank you, Doctor. For reminding me that I’m still alive.

She pressed send. Then she looked up at the stars …and for the first time since her father’s death, she didn’t feel swallowed by the dark.

Somewhere deep inside her, beneath the grief and the exhaustion, something tiny and miraculous was still beating.

A life.

A promise.

A beginning.

And as the night wrapped around her, Vivian finally closed her eyes …not to escape, but to rest.

For the first time in a long, long time, she dreamed not of endings, but of light.